


Train Wreck

by Woland



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: A Bit of Fluff, Avengers are still a family of superheroes who care about each other, Gen, Hurt Tony, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Not CACW Compliant, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, a bit of angst, and Peter Parker is a precious bean who thinks of Tony as his dad, and he gets one, no real plot, only he's afraid to tell him so, until he isn't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 13:42:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15558969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woland/pseuds/Woland
Summary: I saw this post on tumblr (https://somethingjustsouthofbrilliance.tumblr.com/post/176567055585/mto-art-concept-first-actual-hug-they-share-is) and my muse's whump-radar started going off like crazy.  So she came up with this short and mostly plotless excuse to whump Tony with a side of worried Peter and helpful Hulk.





	Train Wreck

The explosion is powerful – a deafening eruption of light and sound that rips the train off the tracks, picks it up and throws it carelessly down the embankment, the screeching, buckling metal slowly coming to a stop in a twisted, smoking heap.  And then it’s over, just like that, and silence, peaceful and somehow terrifying, settles over the burning wreck.

 

***

 

His ears are ringing.  That’s the first thing Tony becomes aware of as his scrambled brain attempts to reboot itself.  And he’s uncomfortable.  Very, very uncomfortable.  Enough so that he really needs to move, at the very least to relieve the god-awful pressure on his right leg.  He does just that and…

 

…screams.

 

 When the nauseating spike of pain dies down to where Tony can start breathing again, he risks opening his eyes.  Looks slowly around him, taking stock.  The train car – (he was going to Long Island on SI business, a casual meet; he didn’t feel like driving, didn’t particularly want to fly; Pepper suggested a train, and it sounded like a good idea at the time; he thought he’d get a chance to relax on the way, read a book, maybe even take a short nap…) – is lying on its side, as best he can tell.  A barely recognizable mess of twisted, groaning metal, ripped fabric and debris. 

 

There are other passengers around here, he’s sure of it.  The train wasn’t packed by any means, but there were definitely people getting on at the same station, and he remembers seeing at least five others in the back of this car when he walked in: an older couple and a mom with two little girls.  But they’re silent now and it worries him.  Almost as much as the gradually thickening smoke that’s filling up the compressed space around him.  They are rapidly running out of time here, and, while he’s sure the report of the explosion and the derailment has already reached the proper authorities and help is likely on the way (the Avengers, too, he hopes; hopes that FRIDAY had the time to alert them before it all went to hell; but his phone is nowhere to be seen and he doesn’t have a way to check), they may not have the luxury of waiting for that help inside the train.  There’s fire moving toward them, and he needs to get them all out of here, and he needs to do it now.

 

There’s only one problem with that – he’s pinned down.  Wedged awkwardly on his side between two rows of mangled seats, his right leg completely swallowed up by the debris.  Twisted and likely broken.  But it’s not like he has much of a choice.

 

He closes his eyes, takes a few deep breaths, preparing himself for another onslaught of pain.  Twists hard to the left, pulling his body backwards with everything he’s got. 

 

Pain is electric – a mercilessly powerful, blinding current that sweeps through him, overwhelming him so completely that for a moment nothing else exists for him _but_ pain. His vision whitens out, his body seizing, and there’s a strong metallic taste in his mouth, coating the tip of his tongue, the spaces between his bottom front teeth. 

 

He breathes.  Sharply, through his nose.  In, out, in, out.  Forces himself to unclench his jaws.  Spits out the bloody saliva, absently tracing the bitten-through skin of his lip with his tongue.  He’s free now, and that’s all that matters.

 

“An…anyone alive?” he asks, shakily pulling himself to stand.  The battered car swims alarmingly around him, bile seizing his throat, and he grabs for the support of the broken window frame that’s now above him, ignoring the bits of rail glass that cut into the skin of his palms.  Squeezes his eyes shut, swallowing convulsively, as he waits for nausea to pass.  Tries again when he trusts himself enough to open his mouth.  “Make a noise!”

 

***

 

He moves through the wreckage as quickly as he can with his head pounding and his right leg threatening to buckle under his weight.  Follows the weak moans and coughs to track down his fellow passengers.  He finds the older couple first, lying in a haphazard, semi-coherent tangle next to an overturned seat. He rouses them.  Props them up as best he can to help them climb out through the gaping hole of the window onto the side of the train and from there to safety.  Two down, three to go.

 

Smoke’s getting thicker with every passing moment, breathing becoming an almost impossible task, and the roar of the advancing flames begins to drown out the roar of blood in his ears.  He needs to hurry.

 

He hears a whimper off to the side, and he turns, barely catching himself on the back of a former seat as his bad leg refuses to follow his movement.  Breathes harshly as he waits for the throbbing in his leg to die down.

 

“H-hey,” he huffs out, spotting a pair of large brown eyes staring fearfully at him from inside a pile of smoke-stained rubble. Kneels down beside it, forcing a smile that he hopes isn’t as shaky as it feels.  “Can you grab my hand?”

 

The brown eyes consider him warily, then he gets a hesitant nod and a small hand sticks out toward him.  It’s one of the little girls he had spotted earlier.  She’s a bit banged up in places and there’s a large scrape on her soot and tear stained cheek, but otherwise she seems unharmed.  _Good_. 

 

“Are your mom and sister there?” He points back toward the rubble.

 

That gets him another nod and a sniffle, and then another, and then another.  “I couldn’t wake them up.” And she’s crying openly now, fresh tears spilling over her cheeks.

 

“It’s okay,” Tony shushes her, “it’s okay.  I’ll check on them.  But I gotta get you out of here first, alright? Alright?” 

 

She hiccups loudly, gives him a slow, reluctant nod. Lets him push her up and out of the train.  He waits a moment longer, watching her legs disappear above the swirling smoke.  Wipes the back of his hand across his sweat-dotted forehead.  The air’s getting hotter, stuffier, the glow of the approaching flames visible through the mangled door at the end of the car.  _Move_ , he tells himself.  _Move_!

 

He drops back down to his knees again, starts pulling frantically at the debris, paying no heed to the sharp edges that slice into his unprotected skin.  “Lady!” he calls out the moment he spots a jean-clad leg.  Frowns worriedly when no answer is forthcoming.  “Hey, lady,” he tries again, placing one hand on the stained fabric.   And chokes on a lungful of smoke that folds him over in a coughing fit, leaves him gasping for air that simply isn’t there.  

 

He wheezes, desperate, his head swimming from lack of oxygen.  Belatedly pulls his grimy sweatshirt over his mouth and nose, squeezing his eyes shut against the acrid burn of the smoke.  The leg beneath his hand jerks, a quiet moan breaking through the thickening haze that threatens to swaddle his consciousness.  He forces his eyes open again, doing his best to shake off the ill-timed weakness.  Renews his efforts, trying to keep his (mostly useless) makeshift mask in place.  But his movements have become too sluggish, each new piece of debris taking more and more of a strain for him to push off.  Until his grip simply gives out and he finds himself sideways on the rubble, his vision flickering like the tongues of the approaching flames.

 

A loud roar comes from outside, and the metal above him groans and creaks as the side of the car is ripped off, a torrent of light pouring in.  And suddenly there’s a giant figure beside him – a blurred glob of purple and green, and Tony feels himself being lifted, cradled with surprising gentleness within a giant green palm. 

 

“Two more… here,” he wheezes out, blinking gratefully up at the blurry green face.  “Two more, buddy… please...”

 

The Hulk nods, or at least Tony thinks he does – his vision’s still a bit wonky and he can’t quite trust what he sees.  But the giant reaches back toward the rubble, rakes his hand through the pile, and Tony sighs in relief when he sees him pull his hand back with two decidedly human shapes held within its grasp.  He lets his eyes slip closed then, lets himself relax in his friend’s grip for the first time since this nightmare began.   The Avengers are here now, and it’ll all be alright, it’ll be alright.  He has to believe that, has to believe that they’ll succeed where he failed, that more lives will be saved today.  But he’s tired, he’s so, so very tired.

 

He feels himself being deposited gently onto ground, his back propped up against a solid metal shape.  Feels a mask placed over his face, the blessed oxygen flowing unobstructed into his starving lungs.  Listens dimly to the sounds of the rescue going on around him, the creaking of metal, the rushing of water, the shouts of familiar voices taking charge.  His mind drifts, his limbs suddenly too heavy, the noises growing farther and farther away.

 

“Mr. Stark!” 

 

A shout of his name – loud and desperate, jolts him out of the encroaching blackness, and it’s the only warning he gets before a tall, lanky shape slams into him, knocking him to the ground.  He oomphs at the unexpectedness of it, his limbs flailing momentarily before his mind catches up to him and he reaches up, awkwardly patting the teen’s back.

 

“Hey,” he tries, pulling the oxygen mask down.  “Hey, kid, I’m alright. I’m alright.”

 

Peter doesn’t respond, only wraps himself tighter around Tony’s form, and Tony realizes with dismay that the kid is trembling against him.  Hears the unmistakable wetness in the shaky, unsteady breaths.  He blinks away the burn in his eyes that has little to do with smoke, swallows against the sudden tightness in his throat.  Buries his face in Peter’s shoulder, his arms coming up to wrap around the teen’s shaking form as tightly as he can manage.

 

 

“I’m okay, Pete,” he repeats gruffly, his voice muffled by the fabric of Peter’s suit.  “I’m sorry I scared you.  I’m okay.”

 

“I thought I lost you,” Peter accuses finally around another wet-sounding breath.  “I saw that footage and I thought….”

 

“I know,” Tony murmurs breathily.  Momentarily tightens his embrace, ignoring the growing protests of his aching body.  “Still here, kid.  Still… here…”

 

His eyes slip closed on their own accord, exhaustion creeping in, and this time he’s too tired to fight it.  Lets blackness envelop him, relaxing into its hold, yearning for the blessed reprieve from the pain.  

 

And smiles dreamily at the soft whisper of “I love you,… _Dad_ ,” that accompanies him into his well-earned rest.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> visit me on tumblr @somethingjustsouthofbrilliance


End file.
